


The Showtime Trio

by Posspox



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Developing Friendships, Dialogue Heavy, I'm Bad At Tagging, Minor Character Death, Origin Story, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-01-23 21:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21326782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Posspox/pseuds/Posspox
Summary: This is an origin story, specifically one of Alastor's little party. The future Radio Demon himself, Niffty and Husk.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 151





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. Author man here. Thought of this idea after I realized that Niffty and Husk were my favorite characters from the pilot, and they both seem to have a history with Alastor. This first chapter is short, but that's because I'm just giving the idea a whirl and setting up the potential plot.

“Kuh!” The man grunts as he slams onto the dingy ground outside the bar, beaten and bloody. Two looming figures follow closely behind.

The burly reptile on the left speaks, “Cough up, cat.”

Our victim attempts to rise off his stomach, “Heh, go fuck yours- krhgh, ooh,” only to collapse after a hard kick to the ribs. The men advance once again.

“We want our money, Husk!” The Doberman-like partner squats in front of the heaving Husk. “Now are we gonna have to really mess you up?” He picks the dire man’s head up by the hair. The dusky eyes cross and uncross.

“Do… h-ugh. Do your worst, fucker. Ergh.” His head slams to the ground, a shuddering howl emerges as a boot smashes against it.

Dog faces reptile, hand in the pocket of his black jeans. “We doing this?”

Croc speaks, “Guess so.” Dobe hoists Husk up by the nape of his neck, the cat floating in and out of consciousness. A gleaming white dagger points to his face. The faint glow given off from the knife dances across the grime-ridden alley, merging with the warm orange of the bar. “Now, kitty. You see this?” Husk’s eyes remain spiraling. They straighten out a tad after a sharp smack, blood trails flow between his sharp orange teeth.

“Look here.” The very tip of the blade comes to rest on his cheek, a slight sizzling emanating from the flesh. The victim snaps back to reality, his legs pitifully kicking against his assailant. “We’re givin’ you one last chance here, you old bastard. Hand off or face off,” he orders with an icy, straight glare.

The hanged’s struggling ceases, his face contorts into a grim grin after a sputtering fit of coughs. “Guess my luck had ta’ run out sometime, heh. Get it over with, bitch.”

“Gladly.”

[*knock knock-knock knock-knock, knock-knock*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIpG0eggtpY)

A tune raps out from the doorway. Quick and polite, dressed up in the solid timbre of the thick wooden door. 

A man stands over the threshold, noticeably thinner than the two perpetrators. He himself is dressed in a simple black pinstripe, shoulder pads high and haughty. Full ears sprout from his fluffed red hair and an ornate horn-rimmed monocle adorns his right scarlet eye. They etch a determined grimace into their lips, stained fangs show underneath. A slight static fills the air, his voice carries a similar soft filtering along with an old-timey showtune accent.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen! Is there not a peaceful way of reasoning with our…” his wide eyes scan the scene, “feline fellow here?”

The two burly men glare at him until finally, Croc speaks, “You got twenty-thou to make up for what this sack cheated?” Dobe gives the heaving cat a shake, the knife lightly scraping black tracks in his fur.

“Well, no. But… I may have something else that interests you?”

“You’re wasting our time. Speak or leave,” Dobe cuts through to the point.

“Boys, boys. Let’s not be hasty here, after all, it does make waste. I’m here to offer you a trade,” the static in the air intensifies to a dull roar as he dons a wry smile, “your lives for his.”

Both goons look to each other and then back to the antlered negotiator. Dobe bursts out into laughter, staring down the deer-man. “Ruth, snatch this joker, will ya’?” The crocodile advances on our hero, as the once wry smile grows into a full beam.

“What the fuck’re you smiling at?” Ruth asks. An instant later, his head meets the edge of the concrete step from a forward fall, bones crack from the heavy impact. A subtle slithering comes from the dark, just out of view.

“Ha-ha! Whoops! Looks like Ruth here should’ve been watching the walk.” The smug demon approaches the dog from his stair, waltzes past Ruth’s still body, and comes to a stop near the crocodile’s original position. The remaining man is as still as his victim.

“... Ruth,” his sorrow tinged voice echoes through the tight corridor. Husk falls to the ground with a heavy grunt and Dobe rushes to Ruth’s side. Just moments later, many small gunshots ring out, holes adorn the back of his head and neck. The two dead men lay together on the cold steps, and Husk lays too on the frigid earth.

The last standing demon sheathes his empty snubnose and squats down to the frozen cat’s level, poking him once, then twice with a long finger. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t speak. From a touch, his pulse is abnormal, two beats here, a pause, another beat and ride on. “Unconscious… hmm. Time to make tracks.”

\-----

A hard metallic thud comes from the back of the truck, along with some rustling from a bright blue tarp. A slam of the door and the vehicle sputters to life. It pulls out of the dingy bar’s parking lot and enters the stream of Hell’s nighttime traffic, horns, revs and yells emerging from the mechanical Styx. A nightly forecast announces itself for the radio until the dial pivots to another station. [A cool big band plays out, small, quick taps on the steering wheel go along to the rhythm.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqn4nyZz0to)

Among the chaos of the streets comes an apathetic peace, an acceptance for how things are. It won’t hold up for long, knowing our driver. A smile no longer overshadows his features, instead, a sleepy-eyed poker-face occupies the space. Slow drive, as to be expected on Hell’s Central Highway. He had been planning his little escapades for about a year now, and even still his plans were rolling slowly along. But it'd happen, sometime.

The warm air comes streaming through the window as he drives, his hair waves and flicks around his vision. Not too bad of a night, all things considered. He picks up his tall glass, only to set the whiskey back into it's cupholder. A small sigh escapes him as the slow stream of cars slowly progresses, he leans back into his seat. The engine sputters as the vehicle slowly accelerates and brakes.

Eventually, the beaten pickup pulls into a small driveway, centered in front of a gradually crumbling sandstone building. A two-storied shack in a cul-de-sac just between the harsh red wastelands and the just-as-rough city limits.

The fancy figure steps out of the low carriage and circles to the back. The tarp swishes off to the side, revealing the still slumbering Husk. He hoists the cat upon his shoulder and locks the car with a chirp of the keys. A short walk up the stone-set walkway, the sturdy door presents itself. The same knock comes from earlier, and the man heads forward.

The door swings open on its own with a soft foot push, the hinges squeak faint and pitiful.

“Niffty! I’m back, and I’ve got a gue~eest!” His voice comes out singsong, bounding over the soft crackling of a fire. 

A small girl with scarlet hair and eye scuttles out of the low-light, an excited smile and frantic mannerism accompanying her. A plain beige dress drapes over her tiny body, her only style comes from a dripping polka-dotted ascot hung around her thin neck.

“You brought a guest? Guest? I don’t see any guests. Alastor, where’s the guest?” Her orb scans the ground around his feet, dusty and absent of life before focusing back on Al.

“Here, let me show you.” He saunters over to the dining room table and throws the out-cold cat onto the rickety thing. “Here he is. Husk.”

At once the hyperactive cyclops crawls onto the round table, next to the cat, carefully poking him over. “Ooh, these teeth are filthy. Orange, bad.” She moves on from the cosmetics to his wounds, gashes on his arms and legs, shattered bones in the wings. But the wings… breakages aren’t the only thing strange among them. 

“Ally! Ally, look at this!” Niffty pulls a hefty leather bag from a pouch hidden in the feathers, the insides obscured by the worn brown material. Al’s long-fingered hand quickly snatches it from her grip, and the contents of it weigh heavy on the bottom.

“Caution, my little Niffty. We don’t know this man, he could be holding something...,” he feels the bag up and down, “dangerous.” 

Carefully, the bag is torn open by his claw-like appendages, and the contents spilled onto the table. Bundles of bills, each held together by thin plastic markers. 5 thousand each, 8 full rolls.

“Whaaa?”

After a small lull in the examination, Al pipes up, “Rhino. Those crocs weren’t yanking me around, it seems. Hell, it’s twice more than they knew.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I wasn’t able to glean much, but it appears that our pally here swindled the cash.”

Niffty nods, “Oooh,” then she pauses. “What do we do with him?”

“Hmm.” Al runs his hands over the bare cat’s body once again, taking an inventory of wounds and fractures. Wide gashes on the legs, most definitely a concussion. “Sutures. Poor boy needs sutures. Niffty, do you still have that needle and thread?” He turns to the small girl who’s still toying with Husk’s ruby feathers.

“Nada. Ran out of thread a week ago.”

“Well, that’s a problem.”

Alastor steps into the spacious living room, a great blaze crackling in the fireplace. Neat stacks of books, empty spools and matchbooks adorn each surface, setting apart an end table dedicated to a tombstone radio. Niffty comes and sits before the hearth, face to the flames. The strange weather patterns of Hell’s outskirts make it a blessing to have a fireplace, the cold and heat can fluctuate like a desert. He paces for a moment, and after a look to girl at the fire, an idea pops into his head.

“Now that’s a thought… do you have a poker?”

“Fire poker?”

“Yes, a fire poker.”

She grabs a rod poking from the ash, a wrought iron length with a red-hot end. It’ll have to do. Al grabs the hooded handle and holds it straight up. The metal crackles angrily. 

He travels back to the unconscious man on the table and looks down at the cat. 

The odor of Husk’s drink becomes plain. “Hooch. Ooh, that’s strong,” he pauses, smirking to the man. “Sorry, my dear, but… I’m not. Best to burn then become infected.”

He slides the money off the table, splays his body and checks it over once more. Three dire slashes. One on the calf, one on the opposite thigh, one just left of the square of his back. Plenty of bruises spread over. 

“Well, there was a scuffle…” he takes the iron and points it to the first gash.

The hot metal pushes against the open flesh, a grody hissing and bubbling emerging from the wound. The stench of burning flesh and hair meshes poorly with the booze, creating a nauseating atmosphere.

“Oh, lord.” Al steels himself and continues his procedure. 

After a few seconds of running the hot iron over Husk’s blackened cut, he pulls away. The wound has fully sealed, but it’s crude. The black char runs over his leg, ugly in contrast to his lush plum fur. 

The next wound is smaller but just as wide. It covers over just like the last. Both men are motionless.

“Whatcha’ doin’?”

Niffty slips into the room, arms swinging at her sides. “Oh. Yech.”

“Cauterizing. Dirty work, you see. And smell.”

She points a finger gun to the poker. “Can I watch?”

“You needn’t ask, my deary.” He pulls up a chair beside him, and she clambers onto the rickety stool. At attention, she stands, watching over the cat’s still body.

Al checks his pulse once again, and it has evened out to a steady beat a second. Shallow breaths, but that’s to be expected. He rolls Husk over and lifts his wing.

“Niffty, hold this up, will you?”

“Yessir!” She grabs the wing and pulls it over her head. The last major opening presents itself, right beneath the base of the wing. He’s lucky he didn’t have the entire appendage lopped off.

He presses the still smoldering rod against the opening, and quickly it burns over. Niffty winges but watches on. With a low sizzle, the rod draws away, a small flame still singing his wing. Al pats it out hurriedly and signals the girl to his side. The wing sets back in place, she hops down. 

“Niffty, do me a favor? Fetch a roll of bandages. And petroleum gel.” She salutes and runs off. Quick as a flash, she returns with the plastic container and roll. He takes them and gets to work on covering the burns, applying the gel, wrapping it tightly, and repeating thrice. 

Al lets out a full exhale, “Whew,” and lifts the cat back up onto his shoulder. Slowly, he makes his way over to the living room couch and sets the cat down on it. The short girl follows close behind.

“Why ya’ putting him there? He can sleep on the floor. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, when he wakes up, we want him in a swell mood. I’ve got a feeling about him.”

“Well, alright. Where do I sleep?” 

“At the fireplace, like a cute little dog,” he grins to his partner. She returns the smile. “You’ll have my bed, of course.”

“But where will you sleep?”

“Well, the fireplace is still open.” Niffty snickers. “Hey,” Al crouches to her level, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fret over me, I’ll just make a little lying place. Okay?” 

“I'll stop, sorry," she bounces on her feet.

“Don’t be. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

“Yep!”


	2. Wakeup Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Husk wakes up.

Gunshots. The cat wakes with a gasp, like a dead man rising from his grave. He hisses in pain. The orange daggers of teeth clamp down on themselves.

“What the fuck’s this?” His question groans out, eyes still closed.

[ A fire gently crackles in the background, and a grainy radio plays a familiar song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VE6-uc1zr3s) He curls to a sitting position. Immediately the scars and bruises on his body react, the sores around cracking and breaking to breathe. Husk slams back down into a coffin position, sinking down into the cushions. 

“God-**DAMN** that stings.” He moans. The tune goes on as he starts to slowly build motivation to stand. A minute passes, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes. A minute more, and he rolls off the couch down onto the hardwood floor, face down once again. The surface is rough and cold, deja vu inducing.

“Ergh.” With a burst of energy, he pushes himself up and launches to his feet. The shaken knees buckle, but slowly the pain in his legs stabilizes. A long exhale. Finally, the deep autumnal eyes open to squint. “What the...”

The surroundings are unfamiliar. A dark, crumbling but spacious sandstone-and-wood structure, nearly the exact opposite of his slum apartment. Paper-thin glass windows adorn the scarlet walls, pointed out to the barren outskirts of Hell, black trees and orange sand. 

“Our little prince is finally awake, I see.” Thick, manilla claws unsheathe from his paw-hands as he snaps up into a fighting stance.

“Who th’ fuck’s there?” The man in red takes a step forward into the low firelight, eyes aglow and grin wide. “Oh, no-no-no. You stay back. You see this?” The cat jabs long twice with his nails, bouncing on his knees. “Yeah, that’s the old Soviet-style. Take another step, see what happens, Smiles.”

“Oh, those Soviets…” The approaching one trails off for a second, then snaps back into the present. “I mean no harm, sourpuss. Calm down, won’t you? Old Alastor here wouldn't lay a finger on you.”

He stills for a moment, glaring at the lanky man from behind his arms. “Husk. And calm down, nah. Where in the Nine damn Circles am I?”

“Whoa there! No need to reference the Comedy, my boy. I take you into my humble home, and this is what I get?” The demon shrugs.

“Yeah. Put the emphasis on ‘take’. I don’t even know how I got these scars, for all I know it coulda’ been you,” he points a hand to his scar-covered thigh.

“Well, that’s just the reason you’re here. I want to talk, inform you on things,” he states, businessman-like.

Husk lowers his boxing guard and collapses back onto the couch, an arm raising to cover his eyes. “Well… go on. You got any drink? Headache’s comin’ on.”

“Oh, yes. But is that really the best thing we can be doing right now?”

“According to you, best thing to do right now is talk. Accordin’ to me, the best way to talk is with drinks. Don’t have to be fancy, just a little somethin’,” he waves to the red demon with a loose, now clawless hand. He simply turns his head. “Hurry it up, will ya’?”

“Ssssure. Wait here.” The tall man turns on his heel and steps into the dining room.

Broken cabinets and drawers, with a low-end fridge. The rickety table still holds up, and the rolls of money still lie on top. Quickly, he stuffs the bundle into the fridge. A moment after, he reaches into one of the few still-secure storage places and pulls out a black bottle of whiskey along with a couple of stout glasses. He returns to Husk’s couch and sets the glasses and bottle onto the small, round table.

“Is this what you wanted?” The bottle pours into a cup, and the full drink slides to the man sitting adjacent.

“Yup.” The cat downs his drink and sends the cup back. “Thanks, now we can talk, heh.”

“So?” The interrogator takes a sip of his drink, then refills Husk’s.

“So? So what? You’re the one that kidnapped me,” the gruff demon smirks to the other.

“Erhrm,” he clears his throat, “first off, what do you remember?”

“Gulpin’ down a bottle, playing a little blackjack. Ordinary night. Besides that though… not much’s comin’ ta’ mind.” He tips the glass back once again. “Hey, that ain’t bad.”

Al leans back in his chair, studying the gambler. “Makes sense. You received quite a few undoubtedly heavy blows to the head back there.”

“Huh. Well, how’d I do? In the fight.”

“You got your fanny handed to you on a silver platter. Your head would have been served on one too if I hadn’t cut in.”

“Well, thank ya’. I guess. Now what’s with the burns, they torture me or somethin’?” He splays out on the couch.

“No. I had to cauterize your gashes. They cut you up like a cantaloupe, and I didn’t have the thread for stitching.”

“Well… damn. The original disinfectant, the old trial by fire, yadda yadda. So what do I owe ya’?” Alastor’s dimly lit eyes flick to the fridge and back.

“Tell me, Husk, are you any good in a brawl? While you’re sober?” His claws pop back out of his knuckles, and he looks to Al with a smirk.

“One a’ the best. Hell, even when I’m punch drunk, I can still whip a guy’s ass. And speakin’ a’ that, uh, how many of those guys were on me last night?”

“Two, in the end anyway. Though earlier, I did hear quite the ruckus near the tables.”

“Kuh. Cowards musta’ snuck up on me,” he spits bitterly. “So, you need a fighter? What’s the job?” The deer grins wide.

“Nifft~yy! Files!” Alastor calls out into the open air of the living room, past the crackling of the hearth. In a second, something falls down the chimney and into the blazing stack of tinder.

“What the hell?” The shape tumbles out from the pyre onto the cold floor, covered in black dust and flickering flames.

The shadowy figure scuttles towards Alastor and hands him a singed folder. Its large eye gazes at Husk. “Husk, this is Niffty. Niffty, Husk.” The soot-covered girl shakes off the powder and fire, grinning to the guest/captive. She jumps over the table to him and leans into his face. 

“Hi! I’m Niffty! Nice to meetcha’!” Her hand shoots out to his, that toothy smile fixed on her face. Husk’s claws retract.

“Yeah. Husk. You too,” he shakes her charred hand gingerly. “You uh, alright?” The girl nods many times. “Want a drink?” Another few nods. Husk reaches across the table to grab the bottle and pulls it back to him. His old cup fills to the brim, and it goes to the girl at his side. He takes a swig from the bottle.

Niffty throws the drink back and slams the glass to the table. “Ugh! That’s gross.” Husk pours her another.

Just as Niffty lunges for her cup again, Alastor snaps his fingers. Both other demons look to him. “So. This folder,” he holds it up, blackened edges glowing in the light. “It contains info on our target.” He passes it to Husk.

The flaps lay open, and spreadsheets of information on a single man spread across the table. Multiple images of a sturdily built lizard with long black hair. “A hit, huh? Interestin’. I’ve seen him ‘round. Why you want ‘em dead?”

“I need to test something. He falls into place.”

“Fair ‘nough. You got a plan?” Another swig from the bottle for Husk.

“Files.” The cat looks back down to the scattered papers. Locations, tendencies, strengths and weaknesses pop from the pages. “He’s a strongarm for another I need to go after. If I can sweep his legs, it’ll be so much… easier,” he finishes with a sinister tone.

Niffty finishes her cup again. “Yeah! Easy!” She holds it to the cat sitting next to her. The cup quickly fills back to the top. Al glances between the two.

“Wasn’t lookin’ fer’ an explanation. What I asked for was a plan, so you’d best tell me before I finish this bottle,” he jabs a finger to the dealer. “So talk to me, Smiles.”

The man shoots the cat a glare and speaks once again. “Yes. I was just about to, so simmer. Down.” Husk spins his finger in through the air, prompting him to hurry up. Another cold look and he continues. “So, our Aron is somewhat of a brawler, as you can tell. Scars, tattoos, the whole waterworks and the mill too. And like you, he’s a heavy drinker.”

“Regular juicer too, huh?”

“Anabolic steroids. Yes.”

“We’re not takin’ him head-on, are we?”

“Oh, we are.” Husk slaps a hand to his head with a groan. “That’s exactly where you come in.”

“What, you expect me to go up to this guy and clock him? ‘Zat it? What, uh, we just run up and lay track? You-” a spur of static shrieks through the air. Niffty jerks up from her drink, patterned ears flatten on the drunkard’s head.

“So! Husker, my boy! I imagine you’re starving. A couple days in the hole, after all! Now, what would you like to eat?” Husk’s easy, even look cycles into shock and then just as quickly into a wide, sharp grin.

“Macaroni and cheese.”

“What.”

“Mac ‘n cheese. You got any?”

“Niffty.”

“Mmh?” Her eye perks up from the scarred wings.

Al gestures to the kitchen. “Do us a favor, will you? Whip up some macaroni for our guest.”

She wobbles back from the table and rushes into the small kitchen. A clatter of metal comes before a slam. The fridge opens, then closes with a hard bang. “Hey Ally! What’s-”

Al’s head turns nearly 180 degrees to glare to the kitchen. “Milk! Macaroni. Needs. Milk. Chop chop!”

“Yezzir!” She slurs back. More banging, shaking, and pitter-pattering.

“So. 3 days?”

“Tonight makes it.”

“Damn.” He takes another swig of his whiskey, then collapses the rest of the way onto the sagging couch.

“So...”

Husk waves the bottle at the sat-up character across the table. “So what? You’re the guy here. The boss, the one I owe. You tell me what.”

“Husk, what I **NEED** is for you to hold your tongue. I will tell you my plan. I will tell you everything.”

Silence from the gazing Husk. He nods and takes another swig.

“So. We will face our little Arry head-on, with a frontal. Do you understand? Frontal?”

“Cut the shit. Yo. Sé. Inglés.” The deer twitches.

“In 3 days, we run a car through his front door. We get out. You kill everything you see. You keep killing until he is dead. Understand?”

“Yup. ‘Zat it?”

“That’s it.”

“Good, good. Now. You got my stuff?”

“On the front table. Go on,” he waves to the front door.

Husk slowly stands from his place and looks around the place once more. Still, the place is dark. The fire is the only illumination, besides Al’s hazy eyes. The kitchen is black as the edges of the living room, set aside a ring of blue flame and the small figure dashing about in the low glow. Al stares. A small walk into the dark and he comes out to the front door. The table to his left carries three things. A wallet, a wing sling/pouch, and an old Colt.

He slides the wallet into the pouch and the pouch over to the base of his wing. His hand approaches his gun, the fingers hesitantly curl around the cold, loose metal. A bony, frigid hand comes over his. His head yanks up, another long hand gripping his hair.

“You understand what this means, Husk?” His gloved hand coils around the cat’s like a snake. The rough man snarls as they glare at each other, the figure's eyes casting a gruesome red from the shadows onto him. Deafening quiet.

“It means I trust you, so don’t you disappoint. Nasty things will happen if you do.” The shadow whispers as its form dissipates into the shadows. The gun finds home in the dry leather sack.

Husk, now alone, looks back to the living room. The fire crackles, the radio slowly drawls. Al’s side of the table rests just out of view, and the clatter of the kitchen plays out quietly. Yet another job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long-ass wait, but i've been kicking life's ass lately. also i have been straight up not feelin it.


	3. For A Full Folder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niffty goes on a date.

“You look so! Clean!” She pats the man in front of her all over, thoroughly running her skinny fingers over his bulging stomach, the tight fabric indeed spotless.

“Well, do I seem like the man to show up for a date dressed like a pig?” He guffaws.

Her wide grin stays fixed on her face, single large eye flicking about the restaurant. “Of course not!”

Silence fills the air for a second, as the small girl looks for something to say. Quiet clinks reverberate among the small talk. The cream-and-brown, posh booths line the ends of the wide dining room. Countless demons fill the tables, in front dishes of adorned with exotic animals and plants. Dim candlelight bounces off the full-window walls, the darkening landscape of Hell’s Pentagram looming in the distance, red and noisy. A beautiful night for this.

“So. Did you reserve a table?” The bulky, piggish man asks.

Her hand shoots out to his sweaty one, pulling him along the rows of seating. “Yup! Right over here!” The odd pair approaches an area at the very end of the room, seats in the corner of the towering eating room. Menus already lay on the wood with fresh drinks poured right beside.

“Hey. You did well,” the suitor pats, more like slams the girl on the back, nearly knocking her onto the floor.

“Well, he-heh! I tried my best! And I got you a drink I think you’d like too. Tell me if you don’t though!” 

The young one barrels into her side of the booth, stopping dead in the middle of her long chair. A couple of sips of her water disappear from her glass, and it lands back onto the cork coaster. The other is still in the process of hunching into his place. While he settles, the cyclops stares out into the sprawling cityscape. Skyscrapers all around, digital displays and cars litter the lower level of the metropolis. This building must be close to the center of the chaotic sector, given that all you can see buildings for miles, and then the scarlet wastes past the concrete jungle.

Her partner hacks into his elbow, setting down the cup of dark liquid. He reaches across the table and grabs her drink and gulps down a few inches of it, leaving the half-empty glass back at her side. “Hogh, that’s strong. Uh, thanks Niffty, but I think I’ll pass on that,” he shoves it to the open side of the table, signaling for it to be taken.

Niffty takes the barely-touched liquor and raises it to her lips, the majority of the drink disappearing within a second or two. The man looks on in awe. “Well I… didn’t think of you as the type.”

“Well, I’m just FULL of surprises.”

“Ooh, gimme another surprise, will you?”

A switch clicks inside Niffty, immediately jumping to a certain subject. “Oh! I used to run a pretty little radio station!” A look of intrigue comes upon the receiver’s face, caught up in the lie already. Niffty’s eye widens, her smile shrinks down to just a grin.

“Tell me ‘bout it.”

“Yes, please! Oh and I’ll cover this.” She finishes off the drops of alcohol and takes a small swig of her water. “So, I used to live in Louisiana, if you believe it! Ran a little station, broadcasted out to New Orleans.”

“Mhm. You’d definitely fit, you’ve got that personality and all,” he compliments. “You know, sweet, entertaining. Yeah.” Niffty glares forward for a second and a blush etches into her cheeks.

“Hey, you’re the sweet one here! Taking me out like this, it’s really nice,” she trails off, looking down at her outfit. A candy yellow dress with black heels and leggings. Simple but eye-catching, perfect for a classy night out.

A birdlike waitress approaches the booth, talons clicking against the ebony wood floor. She breathes out a sigh and looks to the couple. “Hello and welcome to the Joyful Cafe, I’m Katrina and I’ll be your waitress for tonight.”

“Hello Katrina, I’m Hank. A pleasure to meet you.” He reaches out a hand to the server, and she looks down at it. Reluctantly, she takes it in an awkward grip with her claws.

“Nice to meet you… Hank. So, I’ve met your little girl here, and she already got drinks and menus. So. Do you need any refills, and do you need a minute to figure out what you’ll be ordering?”

Hank peers into thee leather-bound foldable trailing a heavy finger over his options. “Do you have your order, Niffty?”

“Yep!”

“Alright, I’ll start. The pasta puttanesca, please and thank you. Oh! And another glass of water.”

The waitress nods and scribbles something down onto her clipboard, and looks to the much smaller demon next. “I’ll have the venison burger, with everything, medium rare please!” She steps back from the table reviewing her paper.

More scratches and she looks up. “An excellent choice, both of you. It’ll be out in a second.”

“Thank you!”

As Katrina leaves, the table goes silent once again, the swine-like twiddles his thumbs. A somewhat uncomfortable atmosphere surrounds the area, both characters undergoing a silent transition in mood. 

“So. Niffty. How was your day today, sweetie?”

“Well, it was good. Just making some alterations to my dresses!” She picks up the seam of her dress and lifts it up a slight bit, showing off the stitching.

“Someday I’ll need you to show me your process. Tailoring is quite the skill to have down here, what with… you know.” he makes an awkward gesture to the outside world. “It’s just nice to be able to repair your things.”

“Well, hey! If you ever need alterations, I’m your gal!” Her smile grows, and she leans into the table.

“Actually… my pants could use a little working on, maybe we could do that sometime?” His hands splay on the table in front of him, prompting a tender-ish moment. Niffty refrains for a moment, before laying hers on top of his. He grows a small smile. 

“I have my supplies at my apartment. I could work on you once we eat!” 

“That... sounds great. I don’t think I’ve seen your place before.”

A clink and clatter interrupt the planning, the food arriving quickly in front of them. Niffty’s burger drips with meat juice and is dusted with pepper and toppings. Fresh lettuce, a generous helping of mayo, and a juicy slice of tomato to balance. Hank’s dish is plain but full, with chunks of tomato and sausage, with nuts and seeds sprinkled in. A couple more glasses of water slide onto the table, one to each person. Another stiff drink arrives in the middle, between them.

“Uh, excuse me miss?” Katrina looks to him. “I don’t think we ordered another glass of, erm, that.” He points to the brown-black liquid.

Niffty swipes it towards her, smiling now at the waitress. “I’ll take it! I’ll take it. Thank you!” The bird simply snickers.

“Welp. Enjoy your meal and all that. I’ll be back in half an hour with the bill. Later.” She walks off into the din of the room, disappearing within the sea of chairs and other rooms.

Both guests size up their meals for a second, trying to see the perfect angle to start eating from, or if there is anything to fix up before chowing down. Niffty takes a gulp of her liquor, taking a sharp inhale afterward. “Want a sip Hanky?” She holds the stout glass out to him, and he backs away. “No thanks.”

“Aww, c’mon c’mon! It’s good!” She gives the drink a slight shake, pointing the lip back to the man. He shakes his head back.

“Niffty, I don’t want any.”

“Drink.” She lunges across the table, shoving the cup to her partner’s lips. Hank flinches and stares up to the looming figure.

He takes it from her hands and stares down into the murk. “Okay,” his response comes out as a pitiful murmur. He raises it to his mouth and takes a gulp of the spirit, scowling back to himself as it clacks once again against the table.

Niffty takes her seat once again, a wide smile on her face. “So, how is it?”

“Good.”

“Toldja’ so! Now, let’s get to eating. I’m starving!” 

She carves into the burger. It splits in half, and she hefts one of the pieces. Hank twirls a fork in his pasta, slowly wrapping noodles and other ingredients around the metal.

“Thanks for taking me out like this!”

\---

“Whooh. That was delicious.” The car door slams behind him as he sidles behind the wheel.

“Oh, for sure! I’m stuffed!” She hops into the passenger seat, her eye barely coming over the dashboard.

The vehicle cranks quickly, and the luxurious SUV pulls out of the parking lot. Niffty bounces up and down in her seat, trying her best to get a better view of the road. 

Hank pulls a strap across his chest and buckles it next to him, looking to his passenger. “Niffty! Seatbelt,” he demands with a tap to her shoulder.

“Fiiiine.” She follows his lead and pulls in securely over her torso. The top strap comes up to her chin, so she pulls it behind her. 

The chunky van pulls out onto the Central Freeway, joining in a school of other vehicles. Mostly beat-up old things, but with snazzy racers, armored hummers and limousines sprinkled into the mechanical stream. It’s quite the contrast, dingy rusts and neon flashes riding against the red-pink skyline. 

“So, where do you live now?” 

“Oh! Oh, yeah! Uh… lemme think.” Discreetly, she pulls out a small piece of paper with an address scrawled onto it. She relays the info to her driver, and he nods. She places the 

“That’s pretty close to here actually, I think. That works out well. Lemme just…” he switches on the console screen and taps on an icon. He inputs the address without looking off the road, and a ding reverberates from the speakers.

“You are now en route.”

Niffty automatically focuses in on the board of knobs, buttons, and sliders. “Oooh, faaaancy.” She fiddles with the controls to the radio, scanning through multiple stations. The volume turns off, and one specific knob is chosen to be spun around. Her hand runs across the thing over and over again, turning the knob like a record. Nearly an entire minute of frantic spinning goes by, and finally, Hank speaks up.

He places his hand on hers as it goes back to turn it once again. “Hey uh, I know you’re having fun but could you cut that out? It’s getting on my nerves.”

“Fine! Spoilsport.”

\---

“Here we are!” Niffty hops up in her seat as the car pulls into the parking lot. A three-story apartment building looms above, white and grey brick layering on the outside. “Home sweet home!” The motor comes to a complete stop, and the little cyclops falls forward into the dash. Before she can slam into the hard plastic, Hank’s large arm catches her. She turns to look at its owner, and he stares on with a bemused expression. 

“You really need to be more careful, ah-hah,” he chuckles.

“You’re one to talk. Heehee.”

“Hum?”

“Nothing!”

She swings open her door and kicks it to a stop. “Ready?” She jumps off her seat onto the pristine cement outside. Hank follows along, slowly stepping out into the pavement field. They both continue towards the sidewalk and meet up in front of the car. Niffty is back to bouncing around on her feet, eye darting around the environment. Her suitor gazes on.

“Are you on medication Niffty?”

“Whuzzat?”

“Nevermind. Let’s head to your apartment, shall we?”

“Yeah!”

“Lead on lil’ princess.”

The imaginary royal skips off to the first stairwell between buildings, hopping up the concrete steps. Hank lumbers behind, struggling to keep up with his date. As the cyclops disappears into the uppermost corridor, he lags behind, barely past the first floor.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Her head pops out from behind the blind.

“I’m... -huff- trying!”

She ducks back into the hallway and yells back to the struggling man, “Well try harder!”

After about half a minute passes, the boyfriend arrives at the top of the stairs, trying his best to stifle his wheezes. The well-dressed girl waits at a door close to the mouth of the hall, so Hank doesn’t have to walk far to get to her.

“Hoo. So, uh, is this the place?” He pants a couple more times, “H-huh.”

Niffty freezes in place and brings out a solitary key from her pocket. Nondescript and simple, she sticks it into the knob. It turns with a soft *chunk* and the door parts slightly from its port. “Go on ahead!”

“Oh, oh no. Ladies first,” he waves her off.

“Aww, c’mon!” She stands still still, staring at her man. “I want you to be able to take in the… the view without me getting in the way! Plus I got stuff to put down.”

“Uh.”

“Just go in, Hank,” her eyes sharpen on the sweating pig, and she directs her hand to the doorway.

“Alright, alright!” He shoves the door open and worms into the apartment, slowly working through the entrance.

Niffty follows suit, closing the door behind. It locks.

“Uh, Niffty? What’s-”

*sn-ip*

The man collapses forward into the empty white room, a slam coming afterward. The fallen one struggles to get up, slipping on his blood. Quite the mess it makes, the pearly tiling being stained by the ruby red. It would be a pretty combination if the pig wasn’t marinating in it. Niffty walks in front of him, her back now to the completely barren apartment. She holds up a comically large pair of scissors, sharp and sleek, before tossing them behind her.

“N-Niffty!” He turns over, gripping the stump that used to be his leg. “W-what?!”

She picks up the heavy limb, the skin now made sloppy by the spewing liquid. It slams against the man’s head, and he goes down to the floor, once again. His clothes are ruined, soaked through. “Khuh-” he grunts. With a final hurrah of strength, he lunges up against the wall, hobbling to the entrance.

Before he can manage a foot of distance, his antagonist kicks in his remaining leg and dashes in front of him, once again. Another oversized tool appears in her hands, this time a huge sewing needle. She plunges it into his thigh, going all the way through to the floor through his calf. He tries to scream, but his mouth clamps shut once it slams against the wall to the side. He lays, knocked out and still. Niffty drops the leg once again and pulls the man to the center of the room, to a solitary chair, the only thing decorating the room. 

The small imp strains herself to push the man into the seat, but she manages eventually. The needle, already poking slightly out of his lower leg is pushed the rest of the way through, the loop at the top touching his thigh and the point touching the floor. His leg is pinned thoroughly to itself. Next, she pulls the belt off of the tubby demon and wraps it around the opening under his knee, fastening it tight and taut. The rampant bleeding stifles, just enough to not drip him dry. That’s done, for now.

She gallops into the kitchen, almost as plain as the front room, leaving out a simple round table. A round table with a few couple different items on it. A length of rope, a mountain of strike-anywhere matchbooks, plus a pincushion stuck with multicolor-tipped pins. All three are scooped up, and she makes her trip back to the improvised interrogation room, pulling a stool behind.

Quickly, she ties his hands to the chair and double-checks his legs. He’s immobile. She props up the seat and hops onto it. Time to wait.

\---

The man shifts to life, shimmying against his restraints. Immediately, his eyes have to acclimate to the room. The windows are blacked out, and the only thing illuminating the surroundings is a few candles on a table in front of him. He tries to flex his only leg. He stops immediately, wincing from the pain running through it. Panic overcomes him as he notices what exactly is causing the stabbing sensation. He rocks the chair, back and forth, trying to wrestle his arms from his back.

A small stick comes against his jaw, he freezes. “W-who’s there?” Niffty stays silent, holding the wood up to him. “Niffty! N-Nifft! Where are you?! Did you do anything to her?” The coward demands.

“Nope! She’s fine!”

Once again, he jolts in place. “Niffty. What is this.”

“Business!”

“Niffty please, please. What do you want? You can have it. Anything you want,” he begs. 

“Tell me about Aron.”

“Hah, w-who’s that?”

The short demon strikes the match against his stubble, and it sparks alight. Hank grunts, but soon that guttural noise turns into a scream as she drags the flaming tip against the arch of his ear. “Tell me all about him, or else I snuff this out with your eardrum,” she wavers the flaming tip near the entrance, just close enough to not burn through it.

The captive cries out, “Alright! Alright! W-what do you want to know? Ask me anything!”

“Thank you!” She whips the incinerating wood away from the side of his head and snuffs it between her fingers. “Now. Where does he live?”

\---

Niffty exits the apartment, locking the knob behind her and turning the simple key in the deadbolt. She snaps the thin metal inside the hole and tosses the wide handle off the balcony. In her hand is a folder, filled with many loose papers worth of notes. In the other, a chair leg. In a flash, she slides down the staircase railing and lands down in the parking lot. The modern vehicle chirps, and Niffty jumps into the driver’s seat.

With a turn of the keys, it jumps to life. The girl busts out a roll of duct tape and wraps the leg around her own, doubling the length of the appendage. It shifts into reverse and carefully, she backs the thing out of its spot and into the open road. It’s a quick trip to the next apartment. Niffty works the wheel and pedals surprising well, especially considering her makeshift prosthetic. The drive takes only a few minutes, soon she pulls into another apartment complex. It’s about the same as the last, but with more black cinderblock than white.

The car eases into an abandoned spot and comes to a halt. She opens the door and hops out, once again. On the ground once again, she sprints into the first-floor hall, a new ring full of keys in her hand. The third door she comes to, she unlocks. The inside is well decorated. Pictures of old friends, a couple of Aron, hang on the walls. Otherwise, the apartment is plain, fitting for Hank. Photo albums and books occupy shelves on the walls, and a safe is visible underneath the TV. 

“Hum.”

\---

[CD loads into the player, and both the music and vehicle race to a start.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfAoeM-uT4AA)

The bulky SUV races through the highway, weaving through lanes of traffic and debris. A long object sticks out from the side, and the driver's side door hangs open. Niffty sits inside, standing one-pegged on the gas. The now-packed folder she holds down with her other foot. The runt’s burst of red hair whips out of the opening as she carves through the road. Using her free left hand, she grabs a white squirt bottle and sprays it out of the doorway. Honks come from behind.

It reaches a particularly dead zone in the stream of cars and drifts to the side. The cars behind stop the honking starts, yelling coming from the now halted sea of metal. Niffty tumbles out from the seat onto the cracked interstate. She scampers to the cylinder sticking from the car’s gas cap. An instant later, the piece of paper ignites, and the girl is gone from the scene like a wisp of smoke. The fuming beast explodes in a fiery inferno, small flaming pieces scattering the road in. The cars remain stopped, people both cheering and jeering at the blazing show. 

\---

Al’s truck is gone when she gets back to the house, but nothing else seems out of place. The front door is locked, the windows shut. She sweeps away the welcome mat and grabs the key hidden underneath. The door clicks, and she heads in. The usual scene greets her, cozy and uncoordinated. The usual stacks of matches, of yesterday’s papers.

She ignores the usual messes that need cleaning and heads up the stairs, in the hallway just to the left of the couch. The stairs creak under her featherweight feet, a reason why the upstairs has always been her domain. The stairs would crash down under Alastor’s weight, even though he’s on the lighter side. Soon, she reaches the top. The paper-thin windows rattle as she galumphs down the barren balcony, The mite comes to a stop at the last door to the left and rips it open.

The room inside is well-kept compared to the rest of the house. A mostly spotless mattress is nestled in the corner of the room, and opposite that is a tall white closet. A matching pastel dresser sits beside it, with a dusty mirror on top. The demon approaches her window straight across the room. Sloppily put-up bars coat the inside of the frame, protecting the contents of the room. She leans against the bars with a content smile, tossing the folder onto the mattress.

After a minute of looking to the outside world, she looks back down to herself. Black singes and splotches of red coat her once-pristine blue dress. Her hands are just as messy, coated in ash, remnants of lighter fluid and blood. As a sendoff to the day, she looks at herself in the mirror. Her usual bright smile persists, the same as her wide eye.

One more glance goes to the manila file and the tiny one sails backward onto the bed.

She hugs the paper holder against her chest one last time. “Full folder!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> christmas!!!!!!!


End file.
